Literary chef

When we lived in the Arctic and I needed to be able to function in both Inuktitut and Cree, washing dishes was my favorite chore. I would prop on the window sill my daily file card of ten words or phrases, and work my way through them while cleaning away the remains of whatever meal we had just had. Competence in Cree is closely associated in my mind with the smell of dish soap.

In our current situation, I generally cook breakfast (early riser) and sometimes take on other meals, but the list of dishes I am comfortable cooking is quite limited. I realized today that, to recommend itself, a recipe has to include periods when nothing much is happen ("let simmer for twenty minutes, or until the buzzards start to circle above the carcass"). Because that's when I read.

I read at other times, of course. I always have a book or two on the go. But nothing beats the rhythm of, say, putting the next two pancakes in the fry pans over slow heat and then, since nothing can possibly be done that will improve the situation until the little bubbles form on the uncooked side of the pancake, going back to whatever book I am reading for a few more sentences.

In this way I am helping Caesar conquer Gaul, watching as a detective named Perez solves a murder in the Shetland Islands, and giving myself nightmares with the story of the way the current Prime Minister governs Canada.

We will not dwell on the occasional tray of goodies ("bake for twenty minutes at 375") that goes directly from oven to bin because I look up when a long chapter finally ends and, lo and behold, it is a multiple of twenty minuteses later. It happens only often enough to keep me, if not humble, then aware that humility should exist.